I was eight years old when Titanic the movie came out. I saw it twice in theaters and, for reasons lost to history, purchased two copies of the two-tape VHS release, dreaming of the day when I too could threaten to throw myself off a boat and end up dancing a sexy jig in steerage with a bad boy artist. It was truly a sexual awakening, and I promised myself that day, “Gabrielle, one day you will live this movie, minus all the death parts.” But it’s been almost twenty years now, and I’ve still not found the right time to throw on some diamonds and ask a man to “draw me like one of your French girls.”